Dreams

Since I was a child, I have been able to vividly recollect most of my dreams and nightmares. I have memories of dreams I had as young as four years old. Generally, the nightmares are more sticky than the dreams. But in many cases, when you speak them the next day (or years and years later) they sound laughable and not at all like the spookiness that woke you from your rest.

The first dream I remember was about a toy train. There was a gift my father gave my mother when they were both in college. She was struggling through a miserable set of final exams in a semester where she'd been particularly focused on everything but adequate test prep. Dad bought her a little bronze engine with a smiling face on the front - a Little Engine That Could. It also happens to serve as a piggy bank.

Mine or not, I think I decided I loved it when I was a pre-schooler. It's difficult to play with a heavy metal bank but I did my best. I might not remember the first time I had the train dream, because it was recurring, but I know it was about 4 years old.

My parents and I lived in a Spanish style house with a courtyard in the middle. It used to be a duplex and had been converted back into one u-shaped house by the previous owner. The living room in the front of the house mirrored my parents master bedroom at the back and then there were mirror image smaller bedrooms and a bathroom on either side. The entire house was connected by a kitchen.

As we were expecting my baby brother, I moved into the front bedroom, what seemed like across the world from my parents, so my brother to be could have the baby room right next to mom and dad's. This meant if I needed anything in the middle of the night I'd have to open my bedroom door, run through a hall and then across the seemingly football field length kitchen, through the second hall and into mom and dad's room.

The dream was, I would wake up front a scary noise in the middle of the night and lay there in bed listening to a faint engine noise until I felt like I simply had to get of bed to investigate. Scared, confused and sleepy as I was, I would slide my feet onto the floor and turn the knob of my bedroom door -opening the door just enough to see if the coast was clear to cross the kitchen.
I was horrified when the chugging got louder as I approached the door. Was there something in the kitchen? As the door creaked open just enough to look out - the coast looked clear. I prepared for the dash to come - It started with a tip-toe warm up through that first hallway.

When I got to the end of that first hallway, I was much closer to my bedroom still. If I got too scared at the juncture between linoleum and hardwood I could still turn around. But if I did, I would still be alone.

I paused at the threshold (hall into kitchen) and blinked my eyes to see that little toy train (which could not move in real life) chugging around the kitchen island. It was only inches tall so it was dwarfed by the objects around it. I paused on whether to run and cry or laugh.
Thinking how silly I was being, I decided to dash past it to get to mom and dad's room.

As I began my sprint, his little bronze face got angrier and closer. I realized it was animated - as if he was alive. And as you may already know, most little toys (no matter how much you love them) that come alive in dreams are quite menacing.
I was terrified as I ran away from the train that was now chasing me. It felt like my legs were ripping through jello despite the pounding of my feet on the floor which told me I should be moving at quite a pace. The train was cackling like the scariest witch and chugging right after me much faster than I could run. As I approached the hallway, which represented safety (although it was covered with hideous gold damask velvet wall paper) I was not sure if I would make it before the train nipped at my heels and dragged me down to the floor.
My heart was pounding, I was hold and cold, and the tears streamed down my face.
I woke up an maintained all of those symptoms.
I realized that I'd been in a dream and now faced the same decision, waking up scared - do I run all the way to comfort of mom and dad's room? Or stay here unsure, scared and certainly by my self!

Two nights ago (and 26 years after the train dream) I had one of those dreams where you don't realize your sleeping until you wake up at the end of it, sitting up in your bed and gasping for air.
I'd woken in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. I climbed out of bed and walked into the hallway. As I passed the hall mirror, a shadow other than my own flashed across it. Scared already, I considered to turn and run back to bed next to MJC or continue my quest. I moved forward into the kitchen, with the bathroom and hopefully the shadows behind me now I would get a better vantage point here. Moonlight streamed in onto the kitchen floor as a made my way to the opposite side of the house. Suddenly it was dark. Cave dark.
I panicked and turned back towards the bedroom but felt a figure move past me in the dark. As a pass the hall mirror again I see a face behind me in the mirror - PLS's face. I look over my shoulder to see what's causing the reflecting but when I turn back I see feet obstructing the path of the hall light under our front door. I leap back into the bedroom and look over my shoulder before ducking all the way back to bed. As I look behind me, our front door is now all of the way open. I blink again - If I'd imagined him before, he was surely here now. Someone opened that door. As a stare stupidly into the hallway, paralyzed to move, his body lunges from the dark - the same face I'd seen in the mirror was right in front of me again.

On Monday I got a call from a detective telling me the man who was convicted or armed robbery based on my testimony 8 years ago was being held on another charge. I listed as he gruffly reported that a year and a half prior to my case, PLS had been involved with another case - with very similar circumstances to mine - only he'd shot the victim in the face.
Suddenly I'm bathing in water under the bridge, forced to revisit the scariest time in my life.
That same face will be in front of me again.

Naturally, I have at least a little more maturity than I did when I was 4 - and inanimate objects became menacing monsters in my sleep. What's kept me awake almost every night this week is a real man, not a monster train. I am angry with myself for being scared. I could cry at any moment of the day but I am not sure why. I am safe right now. I know he is in custody. Am I scared to testify again? I don't think so - I did it before and I know I could do it. Am I scared he will kill me? Yes, but this is not an imminent danger.

I am angry at myself because like a dream, my feelings are not logical. I feel like if I tell anyone they will think I am drumming up sympathy, but if I don't, they will wonder what's wrong with me. I feel like a shell because everything on my inside has been whipped into turmoil. Again.
But, I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me. That wont make me feel better.

When I was mugged, I followed directions. He held a gun to my head and told me to lie down so I lay down. I kept my voice calm and I walked him through where all of my valuables (which I had none of when I was 22) were. When he was finished, he asked me to open my eyes. I did. He told me not to run and I said I wouldn't.
When the police came, I talked to them.
When my boyfriend, who was 8 years my senior, was too scared to testify - I did it.
I stood in front of PLS in his orange suit and and-cuffs with his puppy dog eyes and I told the judge what happened. Then he went away. Because of what I said and naturally, an awful lot of good police work before that, PLS went to prison for the crime he committed. Having justice served I think I was able to pack all of these feelings away 8 years ago. I thought they were gone.

But here they are again. I was lied to. When PLS told the court he was a victim himself, and that yes, he had a gun, but he never would have used it, I HAD to believe him. Certainly, I thought about the fact that I could have died, but when that thought popped into my head, I answered it "Well, you didn't."
Monday morning, upon hearing that one and a half years prior to that night on the beach, PLS is accused of shooting a man in the face, all of those feelings, packed neatly and tightly away exploded inside me again.
At the same time I feel lucky and furious; terrified and calm; wistful and anxious; exhausted and just like me. More than anything I need to sleep, but every time I fall asleep I dream.